Freedom
by Triskell
Summary: TatsumiWatari one-shot. Fluff.


Title: Freedom  
Author: Triskell (ferngully_at@yahoo.com)  
Fandom: Yami no Matsuei  
Rating: PG-13 (Tatsumi/Watari)  
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Yoko Matsushita; the story, short little affair that it is, to me.

* * *

* FREEDOM *  
© Triskell, 5 March 2004

Long hair was an expression of freedom. Being free of other people's opinions and regard, being free to do what one liked and when one liked. 

He had wanted to wear his hair long when he was younger, but his mother had not liked the idea, therefore he had never attempted it. But the lovers he had chosen all had flowing manes of hair he could run his fingers through. That he had never brought one of these women home was another story. Being uncomfortably aware of who he was, he had preferred the ladies of the night, who were not inclined to ask for his name, did not ask for professions of emotion or wedding rings and were, on the whole, far less complicated than women had a right to be. His mother never knew. At least one burden he did not heap onto her.

The body pressed up along his side shifted, warm skin teasing his. He tightened his loose embrace a little to stop any further squirming and tangled his fingers in the long locks. He had not believed any sort of relationship could be so uncomplicated. A mutual agreement, mostly made in silence; no promises and no regrets; no questions asked, no answers required. Almost too easy.

"You think too much. You're supposed to be tired! Go to sleep…" Whisper soft breath against his throat, muffled words, sleepy voice; the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly.

"Same goes for you, Watari-san." 

"Idiot." It did not quite have the same force or meaning that Kurosaki-kun was capable of infusing into the word, but then, the scientist had far less practice in dealing with annoying partners. 003 was, after all, the model colleague and lab assistant, and he was not going to think of himself as Watari's partner, not in any sense of the word.

"I'll pester you till you sleep!"

"Since you've practically dozed off already, that is an empty threat, Watari-san."

A half-hearted slap to his shoulder, check. Grumbling and huffing, check. Lean body rolling over and on top of his, check. Uncoiling of muscles and assumption of sprawl across his chest, check. Just as always.

"Just pull me over, next time. I know your little games, Tatsumi," He stiffened as strong arms wrapped around his shoulders, his own possessive blanket enveloping him, "It's not as if I minded holding you."

Sometimes, he had the feeling the scientist knew him too well. How that was possible was anyone's guess, as he had spent years trying to avoid his character being known; or his motives, intentions and desires. But then again, sleeping with someone for almost two decades did probably alert that someone to some of your quirks. He relaxed, slowly.

"That's better. Sleep now."

"As you wish, Watari-san."

"Id…iot."

Tatsumi's lips formed a smile, his arms coming up around his personal blanket as soon as said blanket was safely asleep. He buried his fingers in blond locks, smoothing the tangles half-heartedly. 

Watari-san did not seem to have any special love for his hair; it had been this long when he died and he was obviously as used to it hanging into his eyes as Tatsumi was to keeping his own short and orderly. 

He idly wondered at how appalled his mother would be to know he was sleeping with a man. Given the choice, she would have preferred prostitutes, he was sure. Yet he was glad he did not have to choose between his mother's approval and Watari-san. Pitting unquestioning friendship and cheerful smiles, an easy, open manner and honest acceptance against the love of a parent was unfair, especially since he knew that in this one case he would not have been able to adhere to his mother's wishes.

He did not allow himself the freedom to let his hair grow out. He would not let himself be free to forget his mother, the pain he had caused her, or the disappointment she had felt on his account. He did not dare to ever be free enough to learn to love someone again; Tsuzuki-san was still too present and all the issues that came from wanting what you cannot have.

But he could have the freedom of Watari-san's presence, the freedom of sun-kissed locks tumbling into his face, tickling his chest, his sides, golden strands sliding through his fingers, soft and swift like a caress and a taste of happiness.

End.  



End file.
